


Fearfully and Wonderfully Made

by owlofowls



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Dom/sub, M/M, Trans Character, ftm character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-15
Updated: 2012-03-15
Packaged: 2017-11-01 23:35:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/362530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/owlofowls/pseuds/owlofowls
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written to fill <a href="http://xmen-firstkink.livejournal.com/5215.html?thread=5320031#t5320031">a prompt on xmen-firstkink</a>:</p>
<p>"Alex/Hank/Sean, trans fic</p>
<p>Pretty please c: any three of the boys being a trans guy (i.e. FtM)? That is the thing I want the most. Would prefer all three of them in a relationship together BUT just two is also fine. Or even friendship or gen or pre-slash</p>
<p>Angst or fluff or whatever</p>
<p>I DON'T CARE I JUST WANT SOME NICE TRANS FIC PLEASE o A o"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The moment Alex saw Hank McCoy, he knew he was in trouble. Those glasses and that cute little mouth and how fucking _shy_ he acted, even though you could tell he knew what he was about, he was smart as hell and he knew it, but he still curled in on himself on the couch like he needed someone sitting next to him to draw him by force out of his shell. He was still looking for someone to take over for him, to show him how desirable he was and leave the bruises so he would remember, so he could stop doubting himself.

It brought back memories. Alex’s first boyfriend had been a mousey little nerd that cried when Alex slammed him too hard against the wall or bit his lip when they kissed. That was before Alex learned to tell the difference between fear and _need_ like the kind Hank radiated. And when it had been – safe. To touch, and to hold like that. Now his body was a weapon, and a secret he had to keep. And that kind of (really) sucked.

Not that he didn’t appreciate the situation he was in. The opportunity he had been given. Just a few weeks before he had thought his destiny was to rot away in solitary, in a women’s prison, with the guards who called him by his full name like they were trying to make a point even though they sounded ridiculous. And then these two men had walked in, Misters Xavier and Lensherr, and told him he wasn’t alone, he was a _mutant_.

They didn’t have a name for the other thing, or if they did neither of them said it ( _tranny, dyke, freak_ ) but they took it in stride. That had been his first experience with the Professor’s _gift_ , after he had growled out that his name was Alex, thanks, all tension and anxiety, not sure what was going on after watching them talk their guard escort right out of the cell, wanting them to _leave_ , it wasn’t _safe_. And the two had just looked at each other, like they were having some sort of silent conversation (later he realized that was probably exactly what they were doing) and then a minute later they were both calling him _young man_. H would be lying if he said Lensherr seemed comfortable with it but he didn’t say anything when Alex used the money they lent him to buy men’s clothes that actually fit, to replace the skirts and blouses and the few baggy and threadbare t-shirts and jeans the warden handed over to him on their way out, and Xavier helped him pick out the leather jacket, assured him he looked "quite groovy."

So it wasn’t like Alex wasn’t grateful for the chance to have a life, to have _his own_ life and not the life of the girl everyone had wanted him to be, but Hank only knew him as Alex Summers, ex-con, and if he kissed Hank (or did any of the other _things_ he wanted to do to that pretty red mouth) he figured he would either get punched now for being a man or get punched later for being a woman and either way he could only see it ending with him accidentally – no. He wasn’t going to think about that.

Unfortunately, for what little sense Alex had, (not very much, he knew) his urges were stronger, but luckily he’d always lived by his instincts and before he really had time to think about it he’d said something hurtful, mean, maybe beneath him but certainly enough to keep the temptation of Hank at arm’s length. And later he felt bad over it, felt sorry for himself for having to see Hank look at him like that, all anger and hurt and the promise of _never trust you ever_ and the label, _bully_ ; but he didn’t really feel bad for Hank (at least he told himself this) because it had to feel better than being blasted into oblivion by Alex, and a small part of him sort of already hated Hank for that argument Alex would have to make sure they never had.

* * *

His resolve started to crumble when Hank called him into the lab one day for something – measurements – and it had seemed so weird but Hank was always kind of weird so he hadn’t asked, at first, just didn’t look at or talk to or _think about_ Hank, the frustration of ignoring him making Alex increasingly irritated with Hank’s hands all over him, body heat so close to him. Then Hank mumbled something about "focus" and "control" and Alex realized it was his power Hank was talking about, this was something – for him, that he certainly hadn’t asked for, and he looked at Hank in surprise, wondering what he had done to deserve this, after everything he had done to _not_.

Hank had just ignored his scrutiny, intent on what he was doing, and it seemed like he was talking to himself more than Alex, because for all Alex usually didn’t understand half the things the nerd said he could usually tell when Hank was _trying_ to make himself comprehensible to other people. Then Hank had him lift his arms and was measuring around his chest and Alex realized very suddenly that Hank had gone quiet. An initial stab of panic overtook him – _the cloth came loose the measurements aren’t right something’s wrong he knows_ – but then he glanced over his shoulder and saw Hank was blushing, certainly not focused on Alex’s chest, hardly even reading the number on the tape measures for the effort he seemed to be exerting in not looking at Alex’s ass. Or maybe not letting Alex catch him looking at his ass.

Oh.

That was when he finally allowed himself to start thinking – hoping – planning. Most of these things ended in Alex’s door locked and hand down his pants at night (or in the morning, or at any time really), rubbing off and groaning Hank’s name.

He hit on an idea in this manner maybe more quickly than expected. It was simple, really; he didn’t have to be naked to get Hank off.

* * *

It was a few days more before he was able to get Hank alone again. At least, without interrupting him in the lab, and he didn’t want to – well – surely whatever Hank was working on in there was more important than what Alex was after. So it happened one night when Alex caught Hank on his way to bed, purely by luck, shuffling sleepy-eyed past the kitchen.

Alex jumped up, abandoning his snack, and followed him. From the tension in Hank’s shoulders he noticed immediately, but he didn’t say anything; he just cast Alex a nervous glance after they passed the door to Alex’s room. Alex grinned at him, knowing how he looked when he did that, sharp and hungry; Hank flushed and looked away again, but when he got to his room he didn’t shut the door. So Alex followed him in.

Hank jumped a bit and turned when Alex shut the door behind them, locked it. He eyed Alex nervously, looking like he was trying to figure out if Alex was going to hit him, which, yeah, maybe he had good reason to think that, with how Alex had been talking to him. He also looked a little hopeful, though, and Alex licked his lips. Hank was waiting for him to say something. To take control of the situation.

“You’ve been working pretty hard. I thought I could help you…relax a little.”

And that wasn’t really what he meant to say at all, that sounded like a bad (terrible) line from a porno, but Hank didn’t seem to care much since he had gotten the meaning just fine and he was blushing, leaning against his dresser and looking to the side like he was embarrassed, maybe because it looked like he was already getting hard, just at the thought of – what? He didn’t even know what Alex wanted yet. Just the thought of Alex wanting him, then, which sent a warm shock through Alex’s own body.

He stepped forward quickly, cupping Hank’s cock through the fabric of his khakis before pressing their bodies together, maybe a bit forward but he didn’t want to risk Hank grinding against his crotch, not sure what he might be able to feel. Hank swallowed and then moaned quietly, attracting Alex’s attention to the smooth column of his throat (and it wasn’t like he could reach Hank’s lips easily anyways, why did Hank have to be so _tall_ ). Alex sealed his mouth there, feeling the warmth and pulse of Hank’s blood just under the surface, found that scraping his teeth lightly along the skin there got Hank to moan again and press forward into his hand. The sound went straight to Alex’s cunt like a shot, making him bare his teeth against Hank’s skin.

He pulled away a bit, hands shaking a bit with arousal now but he took care of Hank’s belt and the button of his pants, dug a hand under the waistband of his underwear and palmed his cock. Hank gave a shuddery gasp, one hand fisting at the hem of Alex’s shirt, the other pressed against his dresser like he wasn’t sure what to do with it, what he was allowed to touch, and as much as Alex wanted Hank to touch him anywhere _everywhere_ he knew this would have to be okay for now.

He continued mouthing at Hank’s throat, stroking him hard and fast and Hank kept making these breathy little moans and whimpers like he wanted more but wasn’t sure how to ask, and finally Alex dug his hand down deeper and squeezed Hank’s balls, maybe a bit roughly but Hank must have liked it because suddenly he was coming, moaning helplessly and shaking under Alex’s hands. Alex sucked gently at the jut of his collarbone, tugging down Hank’s shirt to get at it. He waited quietly for Hank to recover, ignoring the slow burn of his own arousal and just enjoying this, the quiet sound of Hank panting against his ear as he tried to slow his breathing, the wetness of Hank’s spunk on his fingers and the heat of his body even through his ridiculous sweater-vest (why did he wear that when he hadn’t even been outside all day, surely it wasn’t that cold in his lab).

Then Hank’s hand drifted from Alex’s shirt to his hip, grasping uncertainly, and Alex pulled away smoothly. He glanced around and found tissues on Hank’s desk – of course they would be there, like he actually had them in case he got a cold – and used one to wipe his hand. Hank watched, his expression going from confusion to embarrassment.

“I – sorry.”

Alex raised an eyebrow, gave a half-grin. “Sorry? What did you think was going to happen? Because I kind of came in here _hoping_ to get a little dirty.”

This just made Hank flush more, but he looked less embarrassed now and more like he was considering going another round with Alex’s hand, which as nice an idea as that was Alex already thought if he didn’t get to rub off soon he was going to explode (and he remembered when he used to have a bit more self-control than that, but really, he had been in solitary a _very long time_ and somehow jacking a guy off was even hotter when the guy wasn’t grabbing at Alex’s chest and calling him ‘babe’). So when Hank asked, “what should I, um,” Alex cut him off, probably more sharply than was strictly necessary.

“Nothing. It’s fine. I’ll…see you around.” 

And maybe he should have said something more, but really at that point it was all he could do not to pin Hank down and hump him like an animal. So he wadded up the tissue and tossed it in Hank’s trash, slipping out the door as casually as possible.


	2. Chapter 2

The next morning, Alex could kind of see that his rushed departure ( _abandonment_ ) had been a mistake. It was obvious in the way Hank wouldn’t really look at Alex, but kept sneaking glances at him like he couldn’t help himself, and finally just hid himself away in his lab. And it wasn’t so much that Alex wanted to reward that kind of kicked-puppy behavior; he wanted Hank to come to him, to _talk_ to him; but he was afraid of the conclusions Hank would come to, locked up alone in his lab like that.

So it was after dinner, or rather after Hank missed dinner, that Alex found his way down and into the lab. Hank didn’t look up right away when Alex shut the door behind himself, so he leaned against it and waited, hands shoved in the pockets of his leather jacket.

Hank was working on…something. Alex wouldn’t pretend to know what it was. He watched anyway, absorbed by the delicate way Hank handled the machinery – expensive, from the look of it, but that wasn’t a surprise. _Everything_ here was expensive. It made Alex nervous, he already did enough accidental property damage without living in a veritable china shop. But Hank seemed so at ease, almost caressing the machine as he loaded it.

Then, without looking up –  
“What do you want, Alex?”

Alex started a bit; he hadn’t really thought Hank had noticed him come in. He recovered quickly, pushing away from the door and approaching Hank, trying to put a bit of swagger and prowl in his step.

But Hank still wasn’t even _looking_. He was reading over his notes now, and Alex would be worried about interrupting him except he was starting to suspect Hank was just making excuses to ignore him. So he moved closer, leaned in, until he could see his breath stirring the hair on the back of Hank’s neck, and Hank finally looked up, looking flustered and irritated.

It was a surprisingly good look on him. Alex had had a _plan_ , something to do with talking and making excuses and complimenting Hank’s eyes if it came to that, but Hank’s face was _right there_ and he was already a bit flushed with annoyance and probably also from Alex literally breathing down his neck. So Alex just went with it.

In this case, ‘going with it’ meant getting Hank’s glasses out of the way (off to the side, on his notebook). When Hank straightened up and tried to protest, Alex just grabbed him by the jaw, wrangling him down into a kiss. Hank huffed, but didn’t pull away, slowly relaxing as Alex tasted his mouth and nibbled at his lips. Alex didn’t end the kiss until he heard Hank hum quietly in pleasure, settling back to lean against the table, hip touching Hank’s.

“What was that?” Hank muttered, wiping his mouth with the back of one hand. He sounded a lot less irritated, so Alex figure it was a victory.

“An apology.”

“For what?”

Alex shrugged. “Whatever it is you’re sulking about.”

Hank looked unimpressed. “I’m not sulking. I’m _working_.” Alex gave him a bland stare, about as sarcastic as he could get using just his eyes, and Hank crossed his arms. “How do you know it has anything to do with you, anyway?”

Another shrug. “Doesn’t it?”

Hank ran a hand through his hair, sighed. Then deflated, the defiant line softening out of his shoulders, posture slumping into something more exhausted. Alex wondered how much Hank had already managed to over-think the problem.

“I didn’t…know what to think. When you just walked out last night, and you didn’t even let me touch you-“ Hank flushed. “And you didn’t, you know, you didn’t kiss me – last night, I mean – jeeze, I sound like a girl, right?” he ran a hand through his hair distractedly, doing more to muss it than to get it back in order really.

Alex just watched him for a moment, considering, silent; he was pleased to see how nervous it made Hank, going quiet and fidgeting, like he was waiting for judgment. Really Alex was judging himself more than anyone, _evaluating_ , trying so hard not to fuck this up. Even if he already sort of (really) was because there was no way this _thing_ could be a real relationship, not when he couldn’t even let Hank touch him. 

“Kissing is important to you?” he asked finally, and Hank looked startled by that, but then thought about the question instead of just answering, which Alex appreciated. Especially the way Hank bit his lip when he thought. 

“I guess. I just wasn’t sure if you were maybe…experimenting, or…testing me, or something,” Hank mumbled to his feet. Alex tilted his chin up a bit, looking at Hank, then shook his head.

“This isn’t school, Hank. There’s no test,” he teased lightly; then, more seriously, “I just want you. I think you’re gorgeous,” he murmurs, knowing with most guys that word would probably get him punched even if they were practically begging to get fucked the way Hank was, but Hank just flushed and ducked his head even more, so Alex grabbed his chin and pulled him in for another brief kiss. Hank relaxed quickly this time, angling his body towards Alex and moaning quietly into the kiss, clearly looking for more.

But that made Alex want to grind against him, bodies flush together, heat rising between them and that _was not going to work_ and he could feel Hank was hard already hard against his hip from earlier, which had really not been his intention. Time to go. He slid out from between Hank and his work. Hank caught his waistband, trying to tug him back (and now Alex was starting to see why Hank hadn’t laughed off his terribly corny line the night before) but Alex grabbed his hand, stopping him.

“Don’t, Hank. You have work to do, right? I interrupted you.”

Hank looked between Alex and his notes in confusion, like he had forgotten what work was or why he would want to have anything to do with it. “I – yes, but I don’t need to – where are you going?”

“To my room,” Alex said truthfully. “To jack off.” 

It was becoming remarkably easy to make Hank blush. But less easy to embarrass him into obedience. He took a step towards Alex, grabbing for his hips again, and Alex skittered away, frowning.

“Hank, _stop it_.”

“But why won’t you let me – I could –“ Hank stuttered, still blushing, not really seeming sure what exactly he _could_ do, but his hand flexed on the edge of the table like he _really wanted to do it_. Alex felt himself shudder. If only. He took a deep breath.

“No, Hank.” He considered saying more, making excuses (lying to Hank, and then he couldn’t do it). He just shook his head and turned, walking out. “Eat something,” he added over his shoulder, before drawing the door shut behind himself.

* * *

Not long later, or at least it felt like not long, back then when they thought all they would have so long together, was the night Alex found Hank wandering the halls. Hank looked confused and conflicted and _alone_ , so Alex just fell into step beside him. They walked in silence, Hank ignoring him until Alex grabbed his free hand, squeezing it (something in his other hand, a briefcase?). He finally stopped short, staring at Alex, breathing too hard, like he had been running. Or fighting. Alex stared back.

“Raven thinks I shouldn’t want to look – normal,” Hank said finally, in a rush of words.

Alex frowned, eyes flicking towards Hank’s feet before he could stop them. Stupid. He squeezed Hank’s hand firmly, then leaned into him, pressing him into the wall with a shoulder against his chest. He practically climbed Hank’s shirt, rose a bit on the balls of his feet, to press a kiss against Hank’s neck.

“She couldn’t understand, Hank. She can be whoever she wants to be,” he murmured against Hank’s skin. Hank let out a shuddery breath and nodded. He was trying not to cry, maybe, Alex thought.

Alex closed his eyes for a moment, just feeling Hank breath under him. Then, suddenly, following an urge or a need, (his own or Hank’s?) opened his eyes and grabbed the back of Hank’s head, pulled him down for a kiss. It was rough, bruising; he heard Hank whimper in surprise when he nearly split Hank’s lip on his teeth. He sucked at the sore spot and the whimpers became hitching little moans, Hank shuddering against him. Under him, although that was a strange thought, with Hank being so much taller, but Alex was doing his best to cover Hank, like he could protect him that way, from the world, the past, from Hank’s own thoughts.

Then Alex could practically _feel_ Hank’s body teetering on that moment between too stressed to fuck, and fucking out the stress. And he couldn’t give Hank that. Even though the idea of Hank under him – writhing and begging, not thinking about _normal_ or _Raven_ , not needing or knowing anything except Alex – 

Alex pulled away. 

“Raven knows what’s best for her. She doesn’t know what it’s like to be you, Hank.”

Hank stared at him blearily. Alex pulled away slowly, ignoring the question somewhere under the turmoil in those eyes, _and you do?_ ; one hand trailed down Hank’s arm, squeezed briefly before letting go.

Maybe there was something more he should have done. Something more he would have done, if he had realized what Hank was carrying, how literal the conversation was. But really, Hank probably would have tried no matter what. Alex understood.

* * *

At first, he didn’t realize what had happened, heart in his throat when they found the lab torn upside-down – but the Professor just passed out their uniforms, unworried, like he knew exactly what had happened (probably did, Alex would think later) and then they had gone outside and finally, there was Hank.

Alex hadn’t really understood at first, and then Hank was saying something about _it_ not working and then Alex got it, and his heart was breaking for Hank because this was not what Hank had wanted _at all_ , he certainly looked striking but by no means _normal_ and Raven was still going on about “the real Hank" like she hadn’t spent half her life hiding, fitting in, and Hank had never been able to do that and now he never would.

Then Hank had grabbed Mr. Lensherr and nearly choked him, and Alex was overwhelmed by pride. Even though he was close enough to see that this wasn’t so much Hank standing up for himself as an explosion of pain; self-hatred and _it’snotfair_ blending together, concepts he couldn’t attack so he hurt this man instead. 

This, too, Alex understood; remembered picking fights just to see someone bleed. Back before he could accidentally kill them. Things had been easier then; but Alex didn’t think Hank would take the easy route, fighting his way to peace like Alex had over and over. He could already see it in the way Hank struggled to control himself, not letting the rage take over again.

Alex named him then. Beast. The answering growl might have been a protest, but the name stuck. 

And then Alex never got a chance to really ask, because there was Shaw to fight. Then Xavier was on the ground and lines were being drawn and Alex was terrified for a minute that Raven ( _Mystique_ ) would convince Hank to follow her, to follow Lensherr, and he would have understood that too, wanting to burn the world to ashes and mutants and not having to hide, but for all the fierceness Beast had shown in battle that day ( _saving Alex_ , but he was already feeling too much as it was) Alex couldn’t see him killing someone, especially not an innocent someone, and he didn’t want to see what would be left of Hank if he were forced to do that.

He wouldn’t have to, anyways, because Hank didn’t move from Alex’s side. They stood together and watched Erik leave with their friends, and then the realization that Xavier was as badly-injured as they had feared. Maybe dying.

Getting home was all silence and exhaustion. Alex mustered up the energy (because the others seemed to have none left to muster) to find out where they were taking Professor Xavier, to wring a promise out of Moira – maybe meaningless, but he needed it, and from the way Hank and Sean were hovering nearby, they needed it too – that they would get him back after, in one piece. No matter how it…turned out.

Nobody seemed to notice the gaping hole left in Alex’s shirt where his focus had been ripped out (not even Alex noticed really) or be the least bit curious about the bandages peeking through underneath. Later Alex would think that he probably could have been flashing tit and they still wouldn’t have noticed, because there was no point in thinking about how close that had been. 

Then they had been home (and when had he really started thinking of Xavier’s mansion as _home_ ) and he had collapsed in bed and deliberately not thought about how empty the place felt, and _slept_.


	3. Chapter 3

It was mid-afternoon the next day by the time Alex got down to the kitchen, driven more by thirst than hunger. Sean and Hank were seated at the table, talking quietly, but they went silent as Alex got water from the sink.

“Moira came by. She says he’ll live,” Sean finally spoke into the silence. Alex nodded and hummed his understanding into the glass of water. After another moment Sean stood and left, mumbling something about going for a run; Alex spared a moment to wonder if Sean was more perceptive than he had thought, then focused on Hank, going to sit beside him.

Hank looked about as disheveled as Alex felt, and there was a tension to his body, like he had to make a constant effort not to run away. He was wearing one of his button-down shirts (does he even own anything else, the nerd), but it was hanging open. Alex eyed it, wondering if it didn’t fit properly any more, then watched as Hank took a sip of his tea. Or tried. He was already having a hard time handling the mug – handle only large enough to admit one of his fingers, now – and under Alex’s scrutiny he fumbled it, spilled some on himself.

Alex leaned over and grabbed a napkin, moved to press it to Hank’s damp chest; Hank flinched away. Alex frowned, but handed Hank the napkin instead, watching him dab his fur dry, waiting.

“I don’t want your pity,” Hank ground out finally, sounding angry and _scared_. “And you don’t have to say anything. I know we won’t be…keeping on. Like we were.”

Alex frowned. “Hank – ” 

Hank cut him off with a growl, standing abruptly, nearly tipping his chair. Alex stood with him, trapping him against the table, grabbed him by the back of the neck (impossibly tall now, but Alex could still reach so it was okay) and yanked Hank down for a kiss. 

Hank resisted at first, growling again into the kiss and trying to pull away, but Alex put a hand on Hank’s belly and started trailing it gently through the fur there, where it was soft and warm in his hand and Hank finally started to calm, shivering a little against him and kissing back tentatively.

Alex finally pulled back from the kiss, not moving his hand though, continuing to play idly with Hank’s fur. 

“I don’t _pity you_. And I don’t want to stop. I like you a lot, Hank, and I like you just a much now as I ever did.” He glared at Hank, who looked away after a moment, looking ashamed of his behavior. Which was not really Alex’s intention because really, he understood what Hank had been so afraid of, what he thought he had to protect himself from, but this was a fine alternative to his earlier hostility. 

“I just didn’t think – “ Hank started, but Alex cut him off.

“Yeah, you didn’t.” He pressed a light kiss to Hank’s jaw. “Not like you, Einstein,” he added, teasing gently, and huffing a quiet laugh against Hank’s neck when Hank smiled weakly. Finally, Alex stepped back, his hand moving from Hank’s belly to his wrist.

“Come on. Let’s go to your room.” He gave Hank a look. “I don’t want Sean to walk in on me blowing you.”

Hank’s eyes widened, but his ears perked forward immediately, which made Alex smirk a bit. He wondered if Hank could still blush under his fur.

“Um. Okay,” Hank managed to stutter out. They went upstairs, and Alex was glad Sean wasn’t around to see Hank bumbling along behind him like a giant puppy, not that he would mind Sean seeing (that Hank belonged to Alex, that Sean couldn’t have him) but he thought Hank probably would, and Sean would probably tease.

Alex found the door to Hank’s room unlocked; wondered if Hank didn’t worry about his things being stolen, then realized Hank didn’t have years of living in foster care to instill that kind of instinct in him. He tugged Hank inside, directing him towards the bed as Alex closed and locked the door behind them.

Hank stood uncertainly near the bed, watching Alex with wide eyes still. It made Alex feel like a predator advancing on his prey. Something sparked in him, travelling down to create a pool of heat in his belly.

“Sit on the edge of the bed.” 

Hank sat down as instructed, rather suddenly; they both winced at the bed’s loud creak, then Alex grinned, making his way over to Hank. “Excited?” he murmured, and Hank nodded, looking down with embarrassment. Alex kissed the top of his head, then moved to kneel on the bed, leaning behind Hank. Hank turned his head to watch, not protesting as Alex tugged the unbuttoned shirt off Hank’s chest. He did gasp quietly when Alex left it loose at his wrists and then drew them together, wrapping the extra fabric around them and tying it off, leaving Hank’s hands immobilized behind him. It probably wasn’t as secure a binding as it could be, but Alex figured Hank wouldn’t be struggling too much; it was mostly for effect, and to test the waters. He snuck a glance at Hank’s face as he slithered back off the bed, but really all he needed to check was Hank’s cock – already stiffening and straining against the fly of his pants. The expression on his face, though – _fuck_ – it was like Hank was too turned on now to even consider being embarrassed or shy, or to really consider anything at all, and Alex suddenly felt like this look on Hank’s face was something he had been waiting for a long, long time.

He ran a thumb against the growing bulge in Hank’s pants; Hank whined quietly in the back of his throat in response, spreading his knees apart as Alex moved to kneel properly between them. He pulled open the button, tugged down the fly, and coaxed Hank’s cock – almost fully hard now already, he loved how easily Hank got up for him – out into the open air, massaging it gently into full hardness, eyeing it critically. It was definitely larger than before, but he wasn’t sure how Hank would take Alex remarking on that, so he didn’t. He just licked a stripe up it and then took the head into his mouth, his hand settling at the base, tangling a bit in the long, coarse hair there and pulling lightly, going by instinct. This made Hank squirm quite a bit, whining quietly, but it didn’t sound like the bad sort of whine, so Alex tugged on the fur lightly again as he swallowed more of Hank into his mouth. 

Hank was panting above him now, and his toes were curling against the floor ( _had he been barefoot this whole time?_ ) and Alex was pretty sure if he wasn’t careful Hank was going to come soon, far too soon, so he slowed down, curling his hand loosely around the base of Hank’s cock and leaving his fur alone, keeping his lips tight around Hank’s cock but keeping his tongue to himself. Hank relaxed a little, then moaned as Alex pulled back up to the head, licked up the precome gathering at the head with a scrape of his tongue. He took Hank deeper in again, wondering why he hadn’t done this sooner. The taste of Hank in his mouth and the sounds of Hank coming apart under him were driving him wild, and he was already embarrassingly wet but he buried that thought and then hoped that Hank couldn’t smell him or something, fuck.

He pressed his tongue to Hank’s slit again and this time Hank moaned _his name_ , making the two syllables sound like the beginning and end of Hank’s world and Alex felt another stab of arousal shudder through his cunt. He was struck with the thought that he should finish Hank off soon or he’d have a hard time fighting off the urge start humping Hank’s leg or he might (much more improbably, but it _felt_ like a possibility) just leave a damp spot on the goddamn floor. So he swallowed Hank down as deep as he could get him, which was pretty deep he thought, but Hank was too far gone by now to properly appreciate it and that was fine by Alex. He swallowed several times around Hank’s cock, started to wind his fingers in the fur at the base again, then thought better of it and found the more sparse fur on Hank’s balls; he just tugged lightly there and Hank was _howling_ , squirming and bucking like he was on fire, but he was also coming down Alex’s throat so Alex rode it out, leaning his weight on Hank’s knees to keep Hank from choking him, and tried to pick his name out of the wordless noises coming out of Hank’s mouth.

When Hank finally stilled, panting like he was dying, Alex’s throat ached despite his best efforts and he was pretty sure his voice would sound hoarse if he tried to speak; so he didn’t, just moved to sit with his back against one of Hank’s legs, arms resting on his own knees, feeling almost as drained as he usually did after coming several times himself, although the burning need in his cunt was quick to remind him that he had done no such thing. He ignored it, focusing on the quiet and the still, listening to Hank’s breathing slowly calm.

Then he remembered something – something from earlier – _strange_ – Hank wasn’t wearing shoes. He refocused his attention on Hank’s feet. Did his shoes not fit any more? Alex didn’t ask, just ran a hand along the top of one foot slowly, brushing the fur the wrong way. The foot twitched under his hand and Hank huffed an almost-laugh, obviously sensitive there. Then he turned his foot over, grasping Alex’s hand with it. Alex grinned, lacing his fingers between Hank’s toes; it was like holding hands. Hank looked down at him with amusement and something else in his eyes, his smile soft, and Alex avoided his gaze, just running his thumb over the side of Hank’s foot.

Then Hank cleared his throat, and Alex was pretty sure he knew where this was going already so he scrambled up, moving to untangle Hank from the shirt. He went then to investigate Hank’s desk, hoping Hank could just leave it this time, just _leave it alone_ – then he realized abruptly that Hank had stood up and was behind him, approaching carefully, and Alex ducked away quickly, spinning to face Hank, starting to feel unreasonably like a hunted rabbit, or a little kid trying to run from the anger of someone much larger and more experienced than himself.

Hank snarled in frustration this time when Alex moved away from his hands, but it sounded more plaintive than angry. Alex hadn’t realized a snarl could sound so submissive, and it made his heart hurt a bit when he saw how Hank stood with his hands clenched like he was stopping himself from reaching for Alex again, like he was trying to keep himself under control. Hank yanked a hand through his hair in that way he had, looking just as much the irate nerd as ever.

“Alex, _why can’t I touch you?_ ” Hank pleaded finally. “Can we just…talk about this, please?”

Alex shifted from foot to foot, shoved his hands in his pockets. For a moment, he really thought about telling Hank. Maybe he would understand, now that –

No. He couldn’t. Even if Hank would have understood once, Alex had – had _led him on_ too long. He couldn’t stand to hear Hank call him a liar, ask why he thought he could keep this from Hank when he demanded so much trust from him, other questions Alex didn’t know how to answer and somewhere inside him knew were _wrong_ in ways he would never be able to articulate, even though he knew right now he felt more honest than he ever had when the men he slept with thought he was a woman.

But even Hank, he was sure, wouldn’t agree with him on that.

Alex shook his head. “We can’t. I’m sorry, Hank.” 

Hank stared at him, hurt and confusion in his eyes, and calculation, like he was trying to work out why Alex couldn’t trust him with this. Finally he asked carefully, ears flattening to the sides a bit, “is it – did someone – hurt you? I know what goes on in prison –“

Alex interrupted him with a snort as he realized what Hank was asking. He shook his head again. “It wasn’t that kind of prison, Hank. Stop guessing.”

Hank’s ears pressed flat against his head now. He looked miserable and conflicted, one fang catching his lower lip and pressing into it. “Alright,” he finally said quietly, and Alex let out a breath of relief, although his chest still felt tight, seeing how unhappy Hank was about giving in. Alex hesitated for only a moment before stepping forward and hugging Hank firmly; Hank, to his relief, relaxed into the hug immediately, clinging tightly. They remained like that for a long time, but Alex thought it still couldn’t be long enough to reassure Hank, to keep him from thinking Alex was shutting him out, and from the look in Hank’s eyes when he finally pulled away he figured he was probably right. But he didn’t know what else to do, didn’t know how to let Hank in and still be sure of not losing him.

“Night, Beast,” he murmured quietly, feeling like a coward, or something like it. Hank’s mouth quirked a little at the name.

“Goodnight,” he agreed.

Alex shut the door behind himself, wondering if he would ever stop running away from Hank, if he ever wanted to give Hank a chance to be the one to run away from him.

* * *

Moira returned several days later, pushing Professor Xavier in a standard hospital-issue wheelchair, equipment Alex didn’t want to think about strapped to the back. He looked weak and pale and just _tired_ in every possible way and Alex felt his heart jump into his throat again when he saw him, like for a moment his brain couldn’t figure out whether or not he was looking at a corpse, and he thought from the way Hank and Sean clumped closer to him that they felt something similar, maybe (like that day on the beach all over again, and it was just _too soon_ ).

Xavier managed a pale sort of smile so Alex made the effort to smile back, hoping, _praying_ that the Professor that they knew (charming, always smiling, and _you’re not alone_ ) was under there somewhere, under the pain and the grief and the weakness.

“You should have stayed at the hospital,” Sean spoke up finally, sounding vaguely guilty. “We were alright without you.” They all knew that was a lie, so Xavier must have known too, but he didn’t show it.

“I just wanted to be home again,” Xavier responded, his voice raspy and tired and with only an echo of the cheer he probably wanted them to hear in it; and that seemed like a lie too, because Alex could sort of tell by looking at him that as much as this place had become _home_ to Alex like nowhere had ever been in his memory, it wasn’t that to the Professor any more. His home had walked away, abandoned him bleeding on the beach.

Alex felt a sudden shock of rage and frustration and _howcouldtheydothat_ and then realized Xavier was looking at him, with this sad look in his eyes, and the anger cooled to guilt. He turned abruptly and jogged back up to the mansion; nobody followed him.

* * *

Alex spent the afternoon blasting targets in the bunker.

He only emerged for dinner, exhausted and sweaty and desperately wanting to see Hank, not really for sex or whatever it was that they were doing together but just to be close to him and convince himself for a little while that Hank wouldn’t ever walk off and abandon him like Raven and Lensherr had done to the Professor, to all of them. He just wanted to feel safe for a little while, remember that there was someone who trusted him as much as Hank seemed to (even if Alex wasn’t sure he deserved that trust, was pretty sure he didn’t really).

But Hank wasn’t at dinner. Moira was there, and some woman that Moira introduced as the Professor’s live-in nurse (a human, of course, and she seemed nervous but determined but Alex just hated her for the fact that she had to be there at all). Alex ate a few bites to be polite and then made a sandwich and walked out, ignoring the nurse casting curious glances at him like she wanted to know where he was going and it was _none of her business_ , Hank wasn’t anyone’s business but his.

Alex found Hank in his lab. He was writing and drawing and muttering to himself like a madman (a beast, even) and Alex came up next to him carefully, eyeing the precisely-sketched diagram of a wheelchair.

“He has one,” he pointed out quietly to Hank’s shoulder, and Hank just growled something that sounded like _inadequate_ without turning to look at him. Alex let out a slow breath in understanding, then set the plate-with-sandwich down next to the diagram and found a chair tucked in a corner out of the way; it was hard and uncomfortable but he sprawled in it anyway, sitting quietly and watching Hank as he works, taking bites of the sandwich just often enough that Alex didn’t need to be a pest about it.

Alex didn’t realize he’d fallen asleep until he woke and it was three hours later and he had a terrible crick in his neck, but Hank was sitting at his feet with his head resting on Alex’s knee, dozing, huffing quietly in his sleep like a dreaming dog. Alex watched him for a moment, then glanced over at the partly-assembled chair in the middle of the room. 

The amount of work Hank got done on it in just three hours was simultaneously astounding and alarming. Alex wasn’t a stranger to party drugs, and he wondered if that was anything like what it was like in Hank’s head at times like that, _going going going_ and then crashing.

Alex nudged Hank gently until he woke with a moan of complaint, then helped him up onto his feet, guiding Hank out of the lab quickly before he could wake up enough to protest.

After that Hank took his meals with them, and Alex got him to bed at a reasonable hour most nights, but other than that he was in his lab always. Alex visited him more often than not, even though it _hurt_ to watch Hank when he was like that, long moments of stillness and then flurries of movement like he was bursting with energy he didn’t know what to do with. It made Alex itch to go for a run, or work out, or blast things away in the bunker, so that was what he spent his time doing whenever he wasn’t with Hank, working his own fury out physically in the way Hank couldn’t (wouldn’t) seem to do.

It was during one of these sessions that it happened. At first Alex thought the heat he felt on his chest was just from exerting himself, and by the time he realized it was the chest plate, it had lit up, red-hot, it was _too late_ and instead of focusing his blast it shattered, exploded maybe but he could never remember later if he heard a blast or not, if there was fire. It just shattered and he hit the wall and blacked out, and when he woke up it took him a long moment (too long) to realize Hank was there, holding him and saying his name and he had already stripped the top of Alex’s uniform off and was ripping away the undershirt Alex always wore under his uniform after the beach because _too close_ but this was even closer, this had to be it.

Alex’s head felt sluggish and he tried to tell Hank to stop but he wasn’t sure if he wasn’t making sense or if Hank was just ignoring him because then Hank was tugging off the strips of cloth wrapped around Alex’s chest (Alex saw blood on them as they fell to the floor, and that was when he realized _oh_ but he really should have known Hank wouldn’t strip him for no reason) and Alex could feel the seconds it took for Hank to _notice_ drag by like the other terrible moments of his life, like seconds back on the beach seeing Xavier crumple to the ground, like hearing _they only have room for one_ and the woman reaching to pull his brother from his arms, like a time before that he can barely remember where there was fire and the seconds before his mother stopped screaming for him.

And then the moment ended and Hank saw and he went very still. Alex finally found the strength to get up, scrambling and nearly tripping out of Hank’s lap and leaning heavily against the wall, trying not to look at Hank’s face, but he couldn’t help it. Hank stared at him, expression blank and unreadable and Alex didn’t know what to do with that at first, and then the worst parts of his brain piped up with suggestions, plastering his worse fears over the blank slate of Hank’s face; _freak liar disgusting tricked unnatural betrayed_. 

Alex snatched his torn undershirt off the floor and clutched it to his chest ( _why bother, let Sean see, he never mattered as much as Hank_ but he had to), and ran. Hank remained silent on the floor behind him.


	4. Chapter 4

Alex found the nurse (in the Professor’s room, of course). He stared over her head as she extracted bits of shrapnel from his chest, cleaned and bandaged the wounds, and wisely asked no questions, as she had spent most of her time at the mansion doing.

Professor Xavier watched him from the bed (weak, pale, sick) with a look in his eyes like pity, or guilt. He opened his mouth; Alex gave him a sharp look and he closed it again, but wouldn’t stop looking at Alex like that.

_I’m sure it’ll be fine, Alex. Hank-_

“Stay the fuck out of my head, Professor,” Alex gritted out. The Professor finally looked away, staring out the window.

The nurse continued to not ask questions.

* * *

After the injury – the _incident_ , he thought sometimes, but most of the time refused to think of it at all, or _Hank_ at all – the nurse tried to get him to rest. He ignored her, and she didn’t try very hard, too busy with the Professor, the one she was supposed to be there for in the first place, which Alex was grateful for because if he had to stay in bed it would have been impossible to just _not think._

So he spent just over half a day lounging brainlessly in front of the TV with Sean, until that wasn’t enough. Then he was back down in the weight room every day, or outside, training and running until he was exhausted and could collapse in his room and there was nothing in his head but white noise, silent and alone but not caring.

It worked during the day. At night – he dreamt of Hank, still, something that had started weeks ago, he wasn’t sure when because they had always been the same dreams he had (when he had good dreams) of holding and touching and sometimes fucking, and one night it had started being Hank, dreaming of Hank’s skin and smell and pretty red mouth, and lately the friction of fur and claws against his skin, Hank’s voice begging wordlessly and indistinctly but it would become _pleasepleaseplease_ in his head when Alex would wake up and rub out the burn against his hand, pillow, whatever was close and whatever he could stand that night.

The dreams didn’t stop, they just made him angry now, made him jump out of bed and pace and swear and pretend he didn’t feel like crying. And eventually that wasn’t enough so he started going down to the weight room at odd times in the night, or slipping his shoes on and sneaking out quietly (body quiet, _mind_ quiet, he didn’t want to wake Xavier if he was sleeping) to jog laps in the moonlight, letting the night air cool his body.

And this all made him predictable and easy to find, he knew, but he gambled on the fact that Hank was avoiding him, doing all the work for him. It wasn’t like he could avoid Hank if the guy really wanted to find him, talk to him.

And it was working, because for four days Alex didn’t see Hank. Not once.

Eventually Alex stopped pretending he didn’t want to see Hank; what was the point in fooling _himself_ , he already knew how fucked-up and needy and weak he was, and how incredibly _stupid_ he was to care so much about something he had been bound to ruin from the start, and _Hank wasn’t there_ to care how Alex acted.

But he didn’t know how to go to Hank, how to talk about this, without it becoming one of those conversations he didn’t want to have, especially not with Hank, where Hank would say something like _but I don’t understand why you lied to me_ and Alex would say something like _fuck you_ and punch him, because he couldn’t think of any better way to respond to that.

These were the kinds of scenarios he was trying to work out that night, occupying his body with bench presses, when Hank found him.

“Alex, you shouldn’t be – didn’t you get a concussion?” 

Hank’s voice was calm, concerned, and anger flared in Alex’s chest, along with something else ( _you left me and it’s not fair I can’t help what I am_ ). He heaved the dumbbell back into place, sat up, glared.

“Like you would fucking know,” he snapped, hurling the words like weapons, and Hank’s ears drooped but other than that he didn’t react, like he had expected this, and that made it worse somehow, guilt mixing with the anger now ( _I was afraid and you hurt me and now you want me to trust you_ mixing with is my anger really that predictable) and Alex hopped off the bench, folded his arms over his chest, moving towards the door, not really wanting to walk away from Hank, from this, but not knowing how to do anything else, what else he should do.

Hank stepped in his way; boxed him into the corner. Alex growled in frustration, backing against the wall. “What, you want to strip me again? Fuck off.”

Hank winced but stayed where he was, just stood there, like he was waiting for something, _what did he want._

Alex refused to play the game, whatever it was. He stared past Hank’s head, wouldn’t to look him in the eye, not even trying to look relaxed because he could just feel his whole body _thrumming_ with tension, it was starting to ache between his shoulders and if he could feel it like that surely Hank could see it, so there was no point in putting on a show.

“I just want to talk, Alex,” Hank said finally, his expression a bit alarmed like he was afraid Alex was about to break or punch him (and maybe he was right about that) but he said Alex’s name like a plea, and it was that contrast that almost made Alex break down but instead just made him panic, made him actually need to _get out_ before Hank said the wrong thing, because it was clear he had the power like no one had had in a long time to get inside Alex’s skin, get to the soft parts inside and bruise him .

But Hank didn’t look like he was going to get out of the way any time soon. Alex considered vaulting over the equipment. Hank didn’t look willing to grab him, if it came to that.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” he grated out finally, which was the truth, as much as it could be. There probably was plenty to talk about, but he didn’t know how to be the one to talk about it, and he didn’t want to hear Hank ask those questions that he didn’t have the answer to, simple questions like _why_ and _how_ and _what_ and more complicated ones like _would you have told me._

Hank licked his lips nervously, and Alex’s eyes were drawn to the motion despite himself. Hank seemed to take this as some sort of encouraging sign and he took a step forward, stopping when Alex pressed himself more firmly against the wall.

“Okay. Just…just come here then. We don’t have to talk,” Hank said, and his voice sounded so calm and reasonable (even if it sounded like he was working _really hard_ to keep it that way) and it wasn’t like Alex had anywhere else to go. He finally met Hank’s eyes, tried to stare him down, daring him to just get on with it and hit Alex if that was what he was going to do, but Alex knew that really Hank wouldn’t do that ever so finally he took one step forward, then another, and then Hank was wrapping his arms around him and just holding him but wasn’t saying anything at all, just as promised. Alex took deep, slow breaths and concentrated on _not crying_ and he was so focused on the thought that he didn’t even notice his breaths had turned to sobs until after he realized Hank was rubbing his back in slow, calming circles, and Hank still wasn’t _saying_ anything.

Suddenly Alex needed, absolutely needed to know what Hank would be saying if they did have that conversation, because he had so many ugly ideas in his head about what Hank could be thinking right now.

“I’m not a _girl_ , Hank,” Alex finally managed between his quiet, gasping sobs, his voice hoarse and almost accusing, not really how he had meant for it to come out, but he still wasn’t sure if he was angry about this or not. Hank didn’t seem to mind, and just said quietly, “I know.” And it was then that Alex really allowed himself to believe that things might have gone different with Hank – _had_ gone different with him, because here they are, but nobody had ever answered like _that_ , and there wasn’t any pity or disgust in Hank’s voice, just acceptance and maybe some other things that Alex didn’t want to give a name to, but the ache in his chest had some ideas.

Finally he started to regain control over himself, and added, a little less abrasively, “I still – I’m –“ not having the words he wanted, _needed_ to express this at all, but Hank apparently thought he understood because he just said, “I know,” again, and maybe he really did understand because he went on to say, “but I think I should take care of you for a little while, so we’re going to go to your room and you’re going to take a shower and then sleep, okay?” and Alex at first thought it was just because Hank understood how much Alex didn’t want anybody else to see him crying, then he remembered he’d been in the weight room for almost an hour so he must smell terrible, especially to Hank. But when he comments as much Hank just blushes and looks down, so maybe not so terrible after all.

* * *

After his shower – long and hot, to ease the muscles that Alex admitted now were aching pretty badly from his recent devotion to training – Alex changed into his usual sleep clothes, briefs and a long shirt, baggy so he didn’t have to worry too much about walking around at night. 

He wasn’t exactly surprised to find Hank waiting for him back in his room, but he was sort of surprised when he realized Hank was dressed for bed, too – at least, that was what it looked like; he was shirtless, wearing just a pair of sweatpants in a rather ugly brown color. Alex didn’t ask at first, just going to put away the cloth he usually wore wrapped around his chest, just dumping the rest of his clothes on the floor; he might have been more clean to impress Hank, but he was already there and the room was a mess, so it seemed pointless.

“Did you want to sleep here tonight? With me?” Alex asked finally, leaning against the wall and watching Hank, who was still hovering nervously near the bed. Hank nodded, ears flicking uncertainly. Alex considered.

“This is all I’m wearing. We can’t do this if you’re going to like, freak out if you touch my chest by accident or something,” he said after a moment, but Hank didn’t flinch at the idea, just nodded.

“I won’t, uh, freak out. It’ll be fine. It’s fine. I promise,” Hank said, and he sounded almost desperate. Alex realized suddenly that Hank wasn’t doing this because he was worried about Alex, he just really wanted to sleep with Alex, and Alex couldn’t exactly turn him down then.

“Alright,” he said, walking over and dropping onto the bed, tucking his body under the sheets and motioning for Hank to join him. Hank immediately relaxed, making Alex wonder how much he had wanted this, or if he had just been very afraid of being turned down; Hank climbed in after Alex, and immediately cuddled close, his face close to Alex’s and one hand grabbing Alex’s shirt loosely. Alex snorted but didn’t push him away, and managed to turn off the light beside the bed without pulling out of his grip, then threw an arm over Hank and fell asleep within minutes.

* * *

It was later that same night. Alex struggled out of another dream of _heattonguefrictionHank_ and it took him a moment to remember Hank was _there_ , laying right next to him, warm and solid and _available_ , illuminated brilliantly by the moonlight coming through the window.

Alex lay there silently for a few moments, thinking, and he didn’t know yet exactly how okay Hank was with all of this but he was here so Alex guessed the answer was probably _pretty okay_ , and anything more specific they could figure out as they went along. So he slid closer to Hank, pressed up against his side, started grinding against his hip.

It wasn’t long before Hank woke, shifting a bit and then stuttering out Alex’s name as he realized what Alex was doing. Then he put a hand on Alex’s back carefully, and Alex tucked close against him, kissed Hank’s neck and murmured against it, “I was dreaming about you.” Hank whined quietly in response, or maybe it was because Alex’s hand was palming Hank’s cock now and massaging it gently through the loose fabric of his sweatpants. Either way, desire burned through Alex at the sound, hot and eager. 

He moved suddenly, forcibly rolling Hank onto his back and casting the sheets aside, straddling him and starting to grind down against him; at the same time he arched down and sucked at Hank’s neck, then bit down. Hank _keened_ at that, body pressing up against Alex’s, so Alex bit again, and again, moving so he wouldn’t break the skin or bruise Hank too badly (not that anybody would see, and suddenly Alex wanted to mark him in a way they _would_ ) and Hank writhed underneath him and moaned but didn’t complain.

Finally Hank moaned his name, low and plaintive, and Alex felt an answering twinge inside himself, and knew what he wanted to do (he had really already known, from the moment he started grinding against Hank, maybe even before then) but hesitated, pulling back to look at Hank, trying to form the question in his mind so he could make it words, ask _will you still see me the same way after_ but he got a look at Hank’s eyes, so dark with lust and need, and the way he was staring at Alex like he’d die if he looked away, and Alex decided he didn’t have to ask.

He slipped his fingers under the waistband of Hank’s sweatpants and then the boxers under those, felt the rough friction of fur as he tugged them down over Hank’s hips. Hank lifted his hips obligingly and Alex hummed quietly to show his pleasure, because _good boy_ seemed too awkward in his mouth even though he thought it, and besides he could see where Hank might take it wrong (was very aware of Hank’s soft spots, after so long spent picking at them, and besides he wasn’t stupid). He leaned down to nip at Hank’s chest as he reached down to wrangle his own briefs off, not sure he wanted Hank to _see_ yet, even if he was okay with him _feeling_. Hank moaned and whined quietly, not as sensitive here as his throat apparently, until Alex moved to bite down on one of his nipples and Hank’s hips surged up again, grinding against Alex and Hank must have only just then realized that Alex had taken his underwear off because he whined, “Alex,” and pressed up against him again, but looked guilty about it now, like he wasn’t sure he was allowed but couldn’t help himself. Alex moved up to kiss him firmly, wanting to reassure him, and bit his lip as he pulled away, and maybe he was being a bit rougher than usual to compensate for (or hide) how vulnerable he felt but Hank liked it so it wasn’t a problem really.

Alex ground down against Hank several times, pleasure sparking in him at the contact, feeling Hank’s cock becoming more slick under him, and he was definitely ready for this. He lifted his hips again and reached down, grabbing Hank’s cock and holding it in place carefully, but when Hank realized what he was doing he scrambled a bit as if to sit up. “Alex, wait, we should, um, protection,” he stuttered out, and Alex hissed a bit as he was almost knocked off Hank, then pushed him back down with a hand in the middle of his chest. 

“Calm the fuck down, Hank, I don’t have any.” Alex gave Hank a rough grin. “Besides, it’ll be fine. You won’t come inside me. Will you?” He squeezed Hank’s cock lightly and Hank whimpered, still looking unsure but like he wanted to be convinced, so Alex leaned in to kiss him again and ran one hand down Hank’s side, digging his nails in just enough to impress on Hank how much he wanted this _right now_ and Hank moaned and squirmed under him again and looked beyond caring now, so Alex grabbed his cock again and pressed back onto it before Hank could start thinking again and Hank was hot and _huge_ inside him but Alex could take it, he was no virgin, and he pressed down until he was sitting neatly on Hank’s hips and Hank was shivering under him and obviously trying to stay still, wanting to buck up into him but knowing that might dislodge Alex.

Alex just sat there for a moment, feeling the throb and heat of Hank inside him. Then Hank tried to reach for Alex’s hips, wanting to grab and hold on maybe, but Alex swatted his hands away (he should have said something first, but he could barely think around Hank’s cock in him, and it took a moment for words to come).

“No touching. Keep your hands on the bed,” he managed, trying to keep his voice even, and Hank did as told, curling his fingers into the sheets, and Alex couldn’t see Hank’s toes but he thought they were probably doing something very similar. He immediately rolled his hips a bit, both to reward Hank and because he needed to move now, and Hank whined under him and lifted his hips but kept his hands where they were. Alex started rocking on Hank’s cock, rising and falling slowly, and he didn’t mind at all when Hank started thrusting up into him in turn because this was a hell of a lot more strain on his legs than he thought it would be. Not that he was letting that slow him down, because he was already _so close_ and he decided to not be embarrassed about it because he had waited long enough to get with Hank like this, and from the way Hank’s breathing was becoming harsh and uneven he didn’t seem to be in any better shape so Alex had better get a move on regardless, he didn’t want to set Hank up for failure on their first proper fuck.

Alex leaned back a bit then, trying to find the right angle, and grunting when Hank rocked up into him again. “Fuck – Hank – hold still –“ Hank whined but kept his hips flat as promised as Alex moved on him more purposefully, and he wanted to stay on Hank forever but more than that he _needed_ to finish so Alex finally reached down and just rubbed himself briefly with two curled fingers and his orgasm crashed over him, taking the wind out of him as he clenched down on Hank, his free hand curling in the fur on Hank’s chest where he had been balancing himself and tugging, making Hank arch into his hand briefly before pressing himself back into the bed, the resulting shift inside him sending Alex into a mess of aftershocks or maybe he was coming again, he didn’t really care, it felt _good._

It felt like a few minutes passed as he slowly came down and the buzzing in his ears faded away, and he was catching his breath when Hank whimpered, “Alex, please,” sounding panicked, and Alex nodded, untangling his hand from Hank’s fur and stroking his chest to calm him as he eased off of Hank carefully but quickly.

Alex had barely pulled off Hank before Hank was gasping and shuddering, come splashing on the inside of Alex’s thigh, and the way Hank was fisting the sheets Alex wondered if he would rip them with his claws (he wouldn’t mind). Alex straddled Hank’s stomach now, the brush of fur against him where he was still swollen and sensitive sending whispers of pleasure through his belly that he didn’t intend to act on. When Hank’s senses seemed to be returning, Alex leaned down and kissed him slowly, enjoying the whistle of air through Hank’s nose as he panted into the kiss. He pulled away only after they were both breathing normally; groped off the side of his bed and came up with a recently worn shirt, which he used to wipe his thighs clean (or mostly clean, anyway), despite the disapproving wrinkle of Hank’s nose.

Alex dropped the shirt on the floor again and curled against Hank’s side, inhaling their mingling scents, wondering how much richer this must smell to Hank, if he enjoyed it as much as Alex did. Finally, when he felt like he could speak again, he murmured quietly, “you weren’t angry?”

Hank looked at him in blank confusion for a moment, apparently not as recovered as Alex ( _fucked him stupid_ , Alex thought, and grinned to himself) then recognition dawned. 

“Oh. I…was at first,” Hank admitted, his voice just as low, but not really _quiet_ , Alex doubted he could be properly quiet, especially right then as he lay close to Hank and felt every word rumble out of the cavern of his chest. “I had to think about it a lot. And…and I talked to Charles,” he added sheepishly.

Alex shrugged off the admission. Xavier was clearly more equipped to explain it than Alex himself was. Hell, he probably understood it better than Alex did. “Is that why you were hiding in the lab?” he asked. “You were thinking?”

Hank’s ears twitched back a bit. “Um. Yes. That and making you a new chest plate.” 

Alex could practically feel the barrage of apologies building up in Hank, making him itch with embarrassment because Hank’s apologies were always so sincere and why did he have to do that (why did he _care_ so much about hurting Alex) so he interrupted him with a light kiss. “As long as the new one doesn’t blow up, alright?” Hank’s eyebrows came together, but after a moment he made a visible effort to relax and nodded.

“It won’t,” he murmured, making it sound like a promise. Alex sighed and let his eyes drift closed, not falling asleep just yet though. He started thinking about how unlikely it seemed that it, _he and Hank_ , had ended up like this, how he would have never thought it was possible. Never let himself believe it was possible until now.

It wasn’t like they were perfect, Alex was pretty sure he still didn’t really know how to trust someone properly and Hank would probably keep over-thinking everything and Alex was still kind of afraid of the way Hank overworked himself when things got hard to handle, but somehow they were perfect together, greater than the sum of their parts, and he vowed to himself to make this work no matter what.

And if it could work, if they could work, then maybe that meant it was possible for all of it to work out. All of the things with Xavier and the school and Erik… _Magneto’s_ new Brotherhood, and the CIA on their tail, and whatever would come when people started noticing mutants, maybe it would all be okay.

And even if it wasn’t, Hank would be there with him, and that would probably make it okay, in the long run.


End file.
